Why I Spent So Much Time on Facebook


goodbye

I am about to stop using Facebook. And not because it is bad. Quite the opposite, actually.

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Goodbye…And Then… What?


Yesterday, I made a big announcement. Read the rest of this entry

“They took all the trees, Put ‘em in a tree museum” – NOT ANYMORE IN TURKEY: Protests Over Gezi Park Spark Turkish Summer


Not my photo.

Tear gas rises on the horizon over Taksim. This is not my photo.

They took all the trees
Put ‘em in a tree museum *
And they charged the people
A dollar and a half just to see ‘em (more…)

How Much Do We Have To Change Ourselves In Order To Make A Change In The World?


Embrace the foreign - being Kars' first registered foreign driver, I am 001...just 6 foreigners away from being a world renowned international Bond of mystery.

Embrace the foreign – being Kars’ first registered foreign driver, I am 001…just 6 foreigners away from being a world renowned international Bond of mystery.

photo(3)

Yesterday, I applied to become a Turkish citizen.

And it didn’t work. Even after five years of living in Turkey, I still don’t quite qualify. Though many of my neighbors speak about me like they do about yogurt, coffee, tea, and native Americans, swearing that my origins must somehow be Turkish… on paper, I am not. (more…)

Italy Has The God Father. Kars Has The Cheese Shops.


Karsak 2013 - full of friends, family, and a very cute eniste.

Karsak 2013 – full of friends, family, and a very cute eniste.

When I reach my lowest of lows – when times are so tough that the greatest solutions I can think of involve the characters of a Lyle Lovett song with a twist – a horse, a boat, and Muhammad Yunus  – there is only one thing left to do. I walk 3 kilometers to town, pumping my music, staring off into the distance at clouds as they conform around each other, an explosion of dark colors, like emo Tetris pieces, and only as the sidewalk starts to give to the final stretch of castle and mosques, do I press my face against a shop window I know only too well and stick my tongue out. That is my warning signal. Inside, the masters prepare themselves for my entrance.

I swing open the door, grab a string of white cheese jerky from the silver tray on the left, plop my bag down next to the desk, throw my hand and head forward for an embrace, and slump into a black leather chair. My Cheese Men greet me, and then with trained patience and deep wisdom they say as much as a question as a statement – “how are you baby.” (more…)

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